Ogreness, Black Lake-book5

Chapter 25
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Darshee and Wizper were more talkative than their regular selves. Mama blathered along with them. She said she wanted to try hang glidin’. Papa must not have been listenin’, because he didn’t experience cardiac arrest, or a brain hemorrhage.

Papa had snagged us a table in the Inn’s dining room, despite the proprietor’s distaste for takin’ reservations. A gratuity would have been shoved in Papa’s oversized ear, so he got it through sheer force of personality, which always amazes me. Grizzlies who’ve had their private bee hive raided are easier going than my papa. I don't know how he can be so beloved.

Nuel showed a lot more interest in Papa’s mental wanderings on our side of the table. It had dawned on me about the time the sun set—I may have picked up on his phone conversation across from me, though I had my own intense conversation going, that he had been frothin’ with the idea to more dramatically expand OI outside of the ogre community for decades.

He said my idea was ignernt.

I hadn’t desired such open discussion tonight in front of the Northern hen, but I follow Papa’s lead, or get left as roadkill ten miles down the highway. To her credit, she did more listenin’ than yakkin’. Didn’t know a Northerner could do that. Had never been my experience. Papa didn’t threaten to smack her when she did speak. A second surprise.

Maybe from his nods, he even appreciated her blather, uh, feedback.

He never appreciates my feedback.

To be honest, I was thirdly surprised Darshee and Wizper showed more interest talkin’ with Mama about all sorts of hen concerns. Or maybe that was a ploy, to rope Mama into preferrin’ them over Nuel. Hens can be more devious than the average grifter.

Despite the multiple, non-stop conversations durin’ dinner, we finished quickly, to give up the table. It’s high season. Lots of folk hangin’ out in the lobby waitin’ their turn.

We adjourned to The Library, which isn’t a library, a few doors up the boardwalk. Though there are lots of books in shelves against the walls, I’ve always assumed they’re the old elements of ambiance and fabrication. The place was truly the first place in the valley a bull could openly imbibe, generations ago. They serve tea. Only tea. That’s all that’s listed on the slate boards over the long counter against the far wall. Black, green, and white.

Papa explained to me years ago, “A bull ordered tea with a wink.”

A wink meant there was more shine than pristine mountain water in the delivered cup. Tonight when Mama ordered, she winked. Funny the tradition has lasted so many years—generations. I wonder if that was the case when my namesake ran the valley as constable, clan leader, and favorite son?

I should try a double-wink cup one day. Papa told me they use that to remove the barnacles off seagoing ships.

Nuel almost spewed when she took her first sip. Papa had leveraged his own wink at our sweet orc server when Nuel ordered.

The Library caters almost exclusively to the mature ogre and daemon, though there aren’t many of the latter in the valley any longer. Rumor is the earlier daemon settlers decided they preferred the more open vistas of the Southern Black Lake Slopes. So the level of conversation measured in comfortable decibels. No music. Though special occasions called for unplugged, classical guitar on the tiny stage in the center of the floor.

“Do ya have a special bull in yar life?” Mama asked Nuel when silence embraced the table for a moment. Nuel wore a pained expression for an instant.

Darshee and Wizper exchanged glances. Not happy ones. Treachery was afoot, of course, if Mama was givin’ up on the two of them and focusin’ on this Northern hen.

“As in, am I looking for a mate?” Nuel drawled back.

Mama acted a bit surprised by the subtle, rude sarcasm she got back.

Darshee spoke before Mama could compose herself. “She’s prolly too intelligent to be anchored down by the quality of bull she’s been exposed to lately, up North.”

Ouch.

The silence expanded, a little like the gentle cloud of a nuclear blast.

“So who do ya have cornered for that committee?” Wizper asked.

Good, timely change of topic.

“The dean of anthropology at the college,” Papa eagerly answered.

The troll is old enough to have taught my namesake. I couldn’t imagine him being relevant in today’s environment. Hope I’m wrong.

“I would love to get Grandpa,” I said.

Papa almost spilled his shine, I mean tea. Mama nodded, seriously.

“Ya’re kiddin’?” Papa hissed.

I nodded. Gave the bull a tilted head, as in, seriously?

Papa glared. “Our legal guys are vettin’ the four Nuel nominated.”

“Oh.” Nuel’s eyes turned into circles. I guess she didn’t expect Papa to take her seriously. “Uh. One of them—”

We all waited.

“Isn’t an ogre,” she finally said.

Papa didn’t erupt, though the expression on his face remained frozen.

“And ya think yar Northern human will be able to appreciate the issues from a giant’s point of view?” Mama asked for Papa. I had always suspected they shared a telepathic link.

“Actually, he’s a daemon, raised in the Wildes.”

“A—Southern—daemon?” Papa drawled.

Nuel nodded. “He’s a physician, surgeon—”

“A daemon stepped away from his dance and storytellin’ long enough to get through medical school?” Papa’s voice rasped.

“Watch yar prejudice,” Mama whispered.

“They have big hands,” Wizper said, “don’t they? How’s a daemon perform surgery?”

“Treats mostly giants,” Nuel said. “But most surgeries are arthroscopic these days anyway.”

I was busy imaginin’ even my mitts workin’ a thingamajig to insert a stent in some aorta, or whatever. And my hands are small, for an ogre. Though, I can still grip a basketball like a human grips a softball.

“He’s a genius,” Nuel said. “Met him when he operated on my mama.” Her face twirked-funny somehow.

“Any humans on yar shortlist?” Papa asked.

Nuel shook her head. She didn't take in the sarcasm. I hit my tea. Made the mistake of inhalin’ with the cup too close to my face and choked on the fumes. Wizper wacked me on the back. Harder than she needed to. Prolly still in a snit over Mama’s question to Nuel, as though I urged her to ask such a foolish question.

~ Nuel ~

The strain radiated across the table at dinner. Even after we strolled down to get our, uh, tea, Darshee and Wizper appeared distant. Ike’s mama had even leveled off her forced conversation.

The two bulls clearly had some heady conversations before they joined us. And I missed it. The whole evening the two of them kind of stared off into the nether regions, stuck in their own thoughts.

I’ve experienced root canals that were more fun.

~